Chapter 333: Rhaegar’s Turn

The entire crowd gasped in surprise, their attention riveted on the action.

Cole, astride his white horse, continued his charge. His shield, an orange base dotted with black stars, shattered upon impact, and the tip of his wooden lance splintered.

Behind him, the pitch-black warhorse reared and neighed, galloping recklessly. Cregan, still on its back, fell against the isolation fence, being dragged forward by his steed. His shield, emblazoned with an Direwolfs head, remained intact, but his wooden lance was split in two, and a dent marred his shoulder armor.

Despite this, Cregan managed to stay mounted, showing he still had the strength to fight.

On the viewing platform, Rhaegar smiled, watching with keen interest. Earlier, in the clash between the two horses, the young and aggressive Cregan had aimed for Cole's abdomen, hoping for a quick victory. Cole, with his seasoned experience, focused on defense, countering by targeting Cregan's shoulder armor and nearly unseating him.

Rhaenyra glanced at Rhaegar, twisting the ring on her finger, and murmured, "Cole is in good form, as always, as valiant as ever."

Rhaegar, catching her words, raised an eyebrow. "Cole still wants to return to his position at court. You're leaving him a way back."

"Hmph," Rhaenyra huffed, picking up a dessert from the table and bringing it to her lips.

Rhaegar chuckled, reaching out to hold her hand as they continued to watch the match. Cole had once been Rhaenyra's Kingsguard, and it was no secret that she admired him when she was younger. However, since Rhaegar had become the Heir, she had grown distant from Cole.

When Harrold, the previous captain of the Kingsguard, died, Cole elected a the commander and shifted his allegiance to their father.

Still, Rhaegar didn't let jealousy cloud his judgment.

In the arena, Cregan braced himself against the railing, stabilizing his restless warhorse with a firm grip on the reins. His composure and strategy were impressive, rivaling those of the best knights.

Dangang...

The referee struck the gong again, signaling the start of the second charge.

The squires provided fresh wooden lances and shields. Cregan and Cole locked eyes, their determination palpable.

Cole maintained his strategy, shielding himself with one hand while aiming his lance at Cregan's breastplate. Cregan, his eyes cold and focused, rode low, his lance poised.

Ka-ching--

The horses thundered past each other, both knights lurching outward, their lances splintering on impact.

"What a brave young man!" Viserys, seated in the main seat, stood and applauded.

Otto, slightly affected, joined in the praise: "The Starks of the North have never lacked courage."

The entire audience had witnessed the intense clash. Cregan, aware of his lack of experience, kept his upper body close to his horse, his lance aimed squarely at Cole's shield. Cole, avoiding a direct hit, swung his lance to deflect Cregan's and prevent himself from being taken down.

Another round passed, and both knights managed to stay on horseback, their skill and bravery evident in every move.

"Phew~~"

The charge became more intense. The squire had just handed over two new lances, and the two knights, having steadied themselves, clashed again.

Ka-chow-

Different reactions, but the same result: this time, it was Cole's lance that shattered. The teenage Stark was indeed powerful, his strength just slightly surpassing Cole's.

Boom Boom Boom...

They exchanged blows several more times, both remaining undefeated at the cost of broken lances.

Rhaegar couldn't help but laugh, sharing his joy with Rhaenyra. "If they keep this up, Harrenhal's stockpile of lances will run out."

"Will the vault under the Widow's Tower be emptied?" Rhaenyra teased, nibbling on a reddish tidbit and feigning innocence.

Rhaegar's smile faltered, and he replied, somewhat irritated, "It's not empty. There's still a third left."

He had raided the renowned Rogare Bank, where the gold was enough to last for decades, even after raising three thousand Fearless. The caveat was avoiding further costly ventures like building Harrenhal, expanding the Mushroom Set Caravan, and constructing the Dragon Nest.

As they chatted, the duel in the arena neared its climax. Cregan and Cole had clashed eight times, breaking several lances and shields, making for a surprisingly fierce contest.

The audience was electrified, faces flushed with excitement as they cheered for their favored contestants.

The ninth charge commenced. Cregan, sweat dripping from his brow beneath his helmet, clamped his horse's belly and panted heavily. His youth and undeveloped physique began to show. Cole, equally sweaty, fixed his gaze on Cregan, gritting his teeth as he urged his horse forward.

Cole had no desire to remain on the desolate Bloodstone Island; he aimed to return to King's Landing through this tournament. The Small Council, with Rhaegar's approval, had decided to select a Kingsguard from the competition, a fact well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Cole charged for this purpose.

Black and white horses thundered towards each other, white and black intertwining.

Bang--

Cregan, clad in old plate armor, was struck in the lower ribs and toppled from his horse, hitting the ground hard.

Cole's lance had found its mark, and he rode his white horse swiftly to the finish line.

"Well done!"

"Well played..."

The arena erupted in cheers, the atmosphere chaotic like a market in Flea Bottom.

The Unsullied, clad in black armor, rushed into the arena with squires and maesters. Confirming that Cregan's injuries were not severe, they lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him away.

Cole lifted his face armor, spreading his arms wide in exhilaration, basking in the audience's applause.

He cast a sideways glance towards the King and Rhaenyra on the high platform. Unfortunately, Viserys was too busy celebrating with Otto, grinning as if he'd won a bet.

Rhaenyra, her figure partially obscured by Rhaegar in his black armor, sipped her tea in apparent boredom.

...

The preliminaries ended, and the main event began.

Rhaegar stood up, lowering his head to plant a light kiss on the back of Rhaenyra's hand. With a gentle smile, he asked, "No words of encouragement?"

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes warm and sincere. "Come back safe, no injuries."

Rhaegar grinned, giving her a tight hug. "Someone who can hurt me hasn't been born yet."

He then made his way off the high platform.

A few moments later, Rhaegar mounted a gleaming silver horse and entered the martial arts arena, holding a lance and shield.

The rotund referee struck the gong, his voice booming with excitement. "Let's celebrate the thrilling conclusion of the last duel and welcome Prince Rhaegar, Breaker of Shackles, Ruin Maker, and Heir to the Iron Throne of House Targaryen!"

Rhaegar scanned the crowd, holding his helmet in one hand and raising his lance high with the other. The audience responded with thunderous applause, noble ladies leaning over the parapet, cheering and waving garlands.

It was customary for a knight to receive a garland from a lady upon entering the arena. If victorious, the knight would receive a crown of flowers, the crown of love and beauty, to present to his chosen lady.

As the excitement built, the referee, his face flushed, announced, "Prince Rhaegar is about to choose his first opponent!"

A line of mounted knights, clad in armor, awaited their turn. Rhaegar donned his dragon head helmet and rode along the row of knights. Unable to see their faces, he identified them by the crests on their shields.

He scanned the crests: bow hunters, roaring lions, green towers, blue, green, and red stripes...

Finally, he focused on a burly knight with a thick waist and a shield bearing the stag of House Baratheon.

The reason was simple: House Baratheon had no male heirs; this knight was likely one of their bastards. Rhaegar decided to teach him a lesson for this act of deception.

"Ahem ..."

As soon as Rhaegar raised his lance, the silver-armored knight with a tricolor-striped shield let out a muffled cough. The gray-blue eyes behind the faceplate stared coldly at him.

Rhaegar barely glanced at him before riding up to the knight. One look at the tricolor crest, and he recognized him as Harwin Strong, the eldest son of Lyonel and current commander of the City Watch.

"Breakbones" Harwin Strong.

Rhaegar pointed the tip of his lance at him and said coolly, "You want to be my opponent?"

"With honor!" Harwin's voice was solemn and cold.

Rhaegar was surprised, not understanding Harwin's hostility, but accepted readily, "So be it."

The referee cheered excitedly, "For the first round, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen has chosen Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong, the eldest son of the King's Hand!"

On the high platform, Viserys smiled and turned to Lyonel. The meaning was clear: watch how my son beats up yours.

Lyonel sat with his head bowed, his face sullen, saying nothing.

On the martial arts field, the contestants prepared themselves. Rhaegar rode around the fence to the open space below the high platform. As he passed a corner, he caught a glimpse of Tormund dressed in black and white robes. Tormund's eyes were deep, indicating something about Harwin.

Rhaegar was suspicious, speculating what might have happened.

He rode to the bottom of the high platform, looking up at Rhaenyra standing proudly. "Where is my garland?" he asked with a smile. "Quickly, bestow the blessing of invincibility in battle."

Rhaenyra gave him a playful look. "Wait, I'll fetch it."

Rhaegar waited patiently, holding his wooden lance high, waiting for the garland.

Meanwhile, in the ladies' seats, Jeyne, Margaery, and three of the Four Storms' ladies watched him intently.

"Roar ..."

A sharp dragon roar rang out, and a light blue dragon shadow appeared over the arena. Rhaegar looked up to see a young girl with silver-gold curls riding Dreamfyre.

With Cannibal and Syrax having already made their appearance, Dreamfyre did not cause too much panic. The light blue wings flapped gracefully as the dragon landed on the top platform.

Helaena was stunningly dressed, with a red lining inside a long sleeveless black coat, matching black pants, and buckskin boots. She looked more like a valiant dragon rider than a spoiled princess.

"Brother, I've come to cheer you on."

Helaena climbed off the dragon's back, carrying a white wreath of flowers, and ran to the front with gusto.

Rhaegar cocked his head, maintaining his usual kind smile. Recently, he had been spending time with Rhaenyra and hadn't seen Helaena in a while. At first glance, her new look was almost unrecognizable.

Helaena had turned thirteen, and in the last six months of continuous sword practice, her height had skyrocketed, and her figure was developing into a young woman's.

Rhaegar lifted his lance a little and politely refused, "No way, this spot is reserved for Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra arrived just in time, holding a red wreath in her hand. She laughed softly, "Come here."

(Word count: 1,800)